


Dial Tone

by BlueDysania



Series: Telephone [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Crimes & Criminals, Dream is a Good Guy...?, Family Issues, Killer is Killer, M/M, Multi, Nightmare is Not a Good Guy, Off-screen death, Poor Cross, Pre-Relationship, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22662859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueDysania/pseuds/BlueDysania
Summary: Hadn't Cross been loyal? Hadn't he done everything that was asked of him? In return for his loyalty, he was betrayed and with no one else to turn too he considers making a phone call that will change his life forever.
Relationships: KillerDreamMare, Pre-KillerCreamMare, Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: Telephone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660252
Comments: 31
Kudos: 156





	Dial Tone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [0neType](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/gifts), [LyraLV](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraLV/gifts).

> something of an experiment. i had inspiration listening to a song today and wrote this up. thank you 0neType and LyraLV for getting me into this ot4 because this is a rabbit hole and i'm still falling.
> 
> this is a modern day au and definitely pre-relationship. it's basically a 'how Cross got involved with the other three'. i don't know if it will be continued as this was pretty much a flow of thought type fic, but it was fun so who knows! :3 enjoy!

Cross felt hollowed out. His skull filled with a miasma of despair. His Soul numbed only by the sheer amount of how much of it he was drowning in. Not even the bitter wind battering at his body could touch him. The chill in his bones had been there much longer than he’d been sitting on this park bench and he doubted he could be any colder than he was now.

“_A sacrifice necessary for the unit’s victory._”

Hadn’t he been loyal? Hadn’t he performed beyond his limits time and time again? He’d been trained since… since he could remember. His father had promised that so long as Cross could produce perfect results there would be no need to involve his little brother in their service to the Royals. For his little brother’s happiness and safety, Cross had done everything asked of him.

His brother won sports trophies; Cross shattered his bones learning to fight someone who wanted to kill him.

His brother earned his way into a prestigious college; Cross traveled the country leading raids into the dangerous underbellies of society.

His brother successfully opened the business of his dreams; Cross had the faces of each life he’d taken haunting him every night with no end in sight.

Cross did, suffered, all of this because he knew his brother would live a life without worries or fear or know the feeling of dust and blood on his hands.

“_Stop crying, Cross. He was only one casualty in three-hundred. Others grieve today but **you** are no stranger to death. His killer is in our custody, justice is served. Now clean yourself up.”_

Fury sparked through the numbness, as it had since he’d stepped out of the debriefing. Forced to listen to the decisions leading to the disaster that left a downtown street all but ash and rubble. Dust and blood. Forced to watch the tapes and pretend he wasn’t screaming himself to pieces inside.

He’d been patted on the back, given words of sympathy. But on the back of each condolence was the same sentiment.

“_For the victory of the X-Unit. His sacrifice was not in vain._”

As though _they_ had sacrificed anything at all.

It had not been mercy that his father let him leave right after they were all dismissed. No doubt Gaster had seen his mask fraying like worn clothe trying to withstand a hurricane. He couldn’t let his perfect son show such unseemly behavior like a breakdown in the middle of his perfect X-Unit. No matter that Cross might as well be dead for the emotional trauma ravaging his every breath. But so long as Cross was all but dead away from Gaster’s peers’ sight then that was just fine in his calculating mind.

This time, the fury was just enough to bring Cross to his feet.

He had no proof. No evidence to back up the accusation burning on his tongue like acid.

Gaster knew the attack would hit that street. He could have evacuated the street; _saved_ _Papyrus_. Saved his own son.

But the risk.

Gaster couldn’t let the perpetrator get away and ruin X-Unit’s perfect record. Any sort of evacuation effort could have tipped off their quarry and… and Papyrus wouldn’t just leave without trying to save everyone anyway. It was that intrinsic goodness in his Soul that Cross wondered at constantly. He didn’t get it from Gaster that’s for damn sure.

Cross brought his hands up. Numb. Covered in memories of red and gray. He didn’t get it from his big brother either.

Unable to bear his thoughts a moment more, he resolved to think of nothing. He would go home, to his cramped apartment full of impersonal nothing and video surveillance powered by his father’s paranoia. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he froze at the crunch of paper. His cold fingers grasped the card, bent and creased, and pulled it out.

It was the color of plums with a phone number barely visible in black at the center and on the back a crescent moon.

It evoked the memory of an empty-socketed skeleton sauntering up to him while Cross was undercover in a high-end club. They’d casually walked between the security cameras to avoid having his face recorded. He’d been forced to sit still while they whispered praise as warm as the knife pressed to his spine was cold, that his potential was noticed by the right eyes. A silken hand slipping the card into his pocket, caressing his hip coyly, and then disappearing into the crowd like they’d never been there to begin with.

Once he’d been able to slip away from his colleagues (from even his father’s far-reaching gaze) he took a look at what he’d been given. And known at once who the business card in his pocket belonged too with one look.

The notorious criminal mastermind that had evaded notice for years. Capture? Even longer. A businessman who worked in fear and ruthlessness, and was for all intents and purposes untouchable. (Even from his_ father_ some part of Cross had whispered with unholy glee.)

Nightmare. The King. The Guardian of Despair.

Nightmare had a file deceptively thick for all the nothing that it contained. Oh, it was crammed full of information but none of it was useful. It held public addresses of properties owned under his name but everyone knew he didn’t actually _live_ in them. A corporate office but everyone knew it was just a front, legitimate in all respects, but not what Nightmare’s _real_ business was about. It was filled with suspicions, guesses, theories, desperate grasps at smoke in the wind. Even in cases where everyone _knew_ in their gut must have been Nightmare, there was nothing to pin on him.

The King glided through the world, visible and invisible all at once.

The empty-socketed skeleton was likely a subordinate of Nightmare’s but there was no way to check without sending out red flags. The King’s file was locked down and not even Gaster could look at its full contents without gaining Royal court order permission. Not because they were afraid of it leaking out (what was there to leak, it was a file of _nothing_) but because for a short while when it was open for any agent to access, there were monsters who found themselves desperate. They had family caught up in criminal charges, loved ones in danger and no help from their colleagues or superiors. At the ends of their rope they sought out Nightmare for help.

It was supposed that Nightmare had in fact accepted some of those requests. But you got nothing from the King for free. The agents lucky (or unlucky) enough to find help in Nightmare were required to fulfill favors for him in return.

It was those ‘favors’ that locked down the file. There were still pockets of corrupted data never recovered, bodies never found, and the knowledge that there was likely more damage they would never know about; not until it was too late.

Of course, sealing the file didn’t mean Nightmare was _impossible_ to find, agent or civilian. You just had to look hard enough (and be brave enough to follow through). But removing the easy temptation was the better part of caution in this case.

Very few could match the reputation that Nightmare held. The infamous skeletons that held the aliases of Protector and Destroyer were the most notable. A set of unparalleled assassin brothers that wore the singular moniker of Death were another.

Cross had hidden the card on his person and not mentioned anything about it. Explained away the suave, empty-socketed skeleton as some floozy gold-digger looking to score some free drinks and cash. It was a secret of his own and he had so few things of his own anymore. But he never called the number either.

It was an intimidating thought. Nightmare was a name whispered in fear even by the upper echelon of the Royal Government. You didn’t want his attention in general let alone be the focus of it. To be… what, _headhunted_ by him? That sent a bolt of fear down his spine.

(Cross very carefully ignored the bolt of something else, hot and electric, at the thought of someone like Nightmare interested in someone like him.)

Afterwards, Cross could feel eyes on his back on occasion. It was different from the weight of Gaster’s surveillance. No, this feeling came when he was ‘off-duty’. Walking through the park, shopping at the market, sitting in a café. A predatory gaze that would catch him off guard with his slow awareness of it. The owner… didn’t really hide but Cross couldn’t always find him. It was infuriating when he turned and scanned the crowd and shadows and find no sign of that empty-socketed skeleton he knew was watching him.

It was even more infuriating to see them in the distance, cutting smile widening and a flash of silver peeking from their sleeve then sidestepping away before Cross could even debate as whether to confront them. Giving chase was out of the question.

It was still a secret (_his_ secret) and engaging in a chase in the middle of public was an ideal way to draw unwanted attention.

So, Cross learned to get used to the weight of two sets of eyes on his back. He’d been watched for years, it wasn’t hard. (One of them didn’t bother him so much as irritate him to be fair and… he didn’t not _not_ mind it…)

Not that it mattered. He’d had no reason to give the card a second thought. Someone had to protect his brother and leaving would only pull him into the mire Cross had been molded by.

(But he kept it and sometimes in the dark of night he would touch it just to make sure it was still there and remember that somewhere out there, there was someone who wanted him enough to seek him out.

If that comforted him even with the knowledge that that someone was Nightmare, no one needed to know.)

Cross stared down at the card now. Logically, he should be returning it to his pocket to be forgotten. He worked for the Royal Government, was employed by the best tactical unit to ever be produced in its history. But… but his reason for his service was gone, wasn’t it. His reason for not even considering making the call, gone. Scattered in the wind.

“_I’m so sorry, Cross…_”

His loyalty had been betrayed.

“_You shouldn’t be alone today. Call someone. Promise me._”

He had no one to turn too. He couldn’t even go to…

“_Cross. Promise me you’ll **call** someone._”

“_… I promise, Dream._”

_Their international liaison’s smile was blinding in it’s gratitude even through the sincere sadness in his eyes,_ “_It’ll be okay. I… I hope to see you soon._”

He’d promised, hadn’t he?

Cross took out his cellphone, not the one he used for work. A burner. Untraceable. He bought a new one every week to make sure of it.

Typing in the number, his thumb hesitated before pressing down. Lifting the phone, he waited with a quickening pulse as the dial rang. Just as he was beginning to think all of this was some elaborate cruel joke (oh god what if Gaster answered the phone, what if this had been a test, what if he’d known, had been enjoying watching Cross nursing a pale, fragile hope, what if-) it connected.

There was silence from the other end and Cross had swallow back the panic fighting to burst his Soul open. He tried to say something. His voice cracked over nothing, broken after the events of the day and what trap he might have stepped into.

(What if Gaster had this planned the entire time? To watch Cross destroy himself in an effort to escape from under his thumb. What if-)

A deep chuckle, humorless but dripping in knowing satisfaction, rolled through the phone and interrupted his spiral of terror. Cross shivered and it wasn’t from the cold. That wasn’t Gaster, he knew immediately.

“Cross.” The other said.

It was only his name (_how did he know?_). Spoken quietly, but with an undertone of authority so absolute that it straightened his spine on instinct. He didn’t dare breath. Cross startled as two headlights flared to life in the darkness of the street and a familiar empty-socketed skeleton stepped out of the car. Watching him with that infuriating grin. Watching all along.

“You’ve kept me waiting.”

**Author's Note:**

> reviews inspire~!


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